[Sniping a fried onion chip from the bag, he eyeballs it like it's a prized possession. The type of abusive relationship that he's going to eat what he loves alive, he eyeballs Noctis through its open loop, smiling dumbly before sinking his teeth into the first bite. Being high is all about textures, at least, for Prompto... and the texture of the crispy goodness in his mouth is enough to make him slink even lower, if that's even possible, and moan out lowly. So. Fucking. Good.]

We are really, really lame.

[He's lost in thought for a second as he devours the second third of the morsel, not realizing that there was a pause in what he was saying and what he wanted to say next, but the stop is palpable, noticeable, and as he rubs his hand on his pants messily, he adds-]

Chocobos. We're lame chocobos without... wings. Wow, that's really sad. We can't fly. You ever think about how we can't fly? Why is that? Why'd we have to be born to stay on the ground when there are so many cool things to look at from above?

[There he goes, the mayor of Chocoboville, waxing philosophically over why they don't have the finer feathered qualities of the majestic creatures. And then the last part of Noctis' rebuttal hits him, delayed, and he grows wide eyed, dropping the rest of the snack onto the ground.]

We're chicks. Dude, we're chicks. We're totally chicks.